ANGEL IN THE SKY

Two years after Riddick's escape from Not Furya.

"Listen bitch, it's a simple math problem." A suave pimp in a designer suit seethed. His calm demeanor catching the attention of the women standing outside the front doors of, 'Club Neutrino.'

The nightly meeting had become routine. The women arrived. Their boss came out and issued their assignments. It always happened at 6PM, and always 1 hour prior to the door's opening for business. After which, some went into the business district searching for clients while others went inside to dance. Still others fulfilled more intimate acts for the regulars backstage. Not tonight though, the boss seemed put out. He stared through the wary group, eyebrows furrowed, cheeks flushed, balling his hands into fists. It was obvious, the club would be opening late. Rico was upset. An example needed to be set.

Rico was a decent-looking guy, 6 foot tall as he told it; but 5 foot11 in truth. He had dark brown hair and a wiry runner's frame. He wasn't exactly what you'd call scrawny, but he certainly wasn't an imposing man either. Like all men of self-proclaimed power, he thought a great deal of himself, little of others. The downtrodden working girls in his employ, were not of the same opinion. When the women were fed up with him, they would hold out a pinky finger and say, "He's too short for his height." That always made them laugh.

He liked his fancy cars, expensive toys, gaudy jewelry and noxious colognes with haughty French names. It was an obvious ruse. He was a self-hater, hiding behind the trappings of wealth and power. But tonight, the need to hide the insecure little boy beneath the pretense of power would send him straight to shit city.

The scantily clad working girl he set upon towered over the poorly compensated harem. She was long and willowy, 6 foot 1, and an absolute giant perched atop a fresh pair of stilettos. The slutty heels were at Rico's insistence. The style and height were all her own. Ginger liked them high.

When the neon lights of the business district struck Ginger's waist length black hair at just the right angle, it gave off a bluish sheen like a chrome rainbow burned onto a hot tailpipe. Her captivating eyes were black voids, so unusual in fact, her clientele stared into them endlessly trying to find the pupils hidden within. And the longer they tried, the more their minds filled with a single thought. Anything. You can have anything.

Ginger's accented voice had a mesmerizing effect on her suitors. Its hypnotic melody drew lonely men to her without fail. It exuded love and desire, and assured them all, 'I am yours.' But it left them enveloped in an unnatural blanket of cold. Until they went utterly insane with desire.

For ten years, she struggled to conceal the effects her voice had on others. And the more she tried, the more her suitors vanished. Although no one noticed. Men who used women for pleasure never stuck around. They either lost interest or ran out of money.

She asked nothing of those who came to her; took nothing from them when they offered. Wealth and power weren't part of her objectives. Through it all, she raised her children in poverty, though onlyt of the underlying plan and lived a normal, mortal life. But unlike the others; Ginger was far from normal.

Peering over Rico's shoulder, Ginher cast an imperceptible smile at a dark corner 50 yards away. She saw he had finally come and thought, everything will change tonight.

Rico stood in front of the only property in his possession and grinned up triumphantly. In its heyday, 'Club Neutrino,' had been a high-end hotel in a tourist rich mecca for the ultra-wealthy and influential. But now, the building languished as a sad testament to the excesses of a forgotten past. But, like all parents of ugly babies, he loved his rundown building. It was his, and no one could convince him it was not grand.

As a descendent of the 4 founding houses, Rico struggled to live up to his glorious name he inherited. Like a spoiled man-child he had everything, wanted for little and achieved nothing. He was mundane and petty.

The hooker, without lineage or name, appeared in front of the club out of thin air. She came from nothing, wanted only for her children and earned everything. She was the one woman Rico could never bed. She was fierce and noble.

In his mind, he reasoned, if I win her, I can do anything. Attain anything. But Ginger didn't see it that way, and tonight Rico had finally reasoned her resolve far outweighed his own. She would never give in. He was right.

Ginger stood amidst the wary pack, porcelain face mocking him as if he were a nobody. He hated her for making him feel insignificant. Hated her for refusing his advances. After all, she's just a lowly hooker, 'Why refuse me?' he reassured himself. 'I'm not the nobody, she's the goddamn nobody. I'm the boss and what the boss says goes.' His self-proclaimed authority gave him no sway over her.

The dozen women around her saw only the drawn, pallid expression of a woman in the grip of terror. She played her part well. They saw no signs she mocked him, nor had they ever seen her mock him before. But Rico could see the insulting sneer. He was sure it was there. Hidden in the corners of her mouth. Buried behind her black eyes. He was certain there was a look of contempt. And who knows? Perhaps it had always been there. Maybe Ginger always wanted him to see.

His chiseled face flushed, his soft unused hands balled into tight fists, then he relaxed before anyone saw the anxiety. His anger would have burned more brightly had he known Ginger told the others, 'A girl, even one caught in a sticky web, has to have standards. And, I have standards.' Odd words coming from a hooker, but that back-handed insult never failed to draw laughs.

One thing that never made them laugh, or brought any comfort, was Rico's fervent use of words like bitch. He used those words to demoralize them. And when he felt those petty insults failed to achieve the desired effect, he turned to violence. But never The face. No. Never the face. A beautiful face meant more profit.

"Clients don't like bruises." He assured them, "It ruins the experience."

For Rico, business was simple, pussy pays the bills, and those equipped with them, were less than human. They were meat products created for no other purpose than supporting a market driven economy. They possessed the product, and he provided them with an unending marketplace in which to sell them.

The only saving grace was that Rico had never seriously injured any of them before. Sure, he had beaten most of them, but he had killed no one. He was smarter than that.

'Hey,' he thought, 'I'm not a bad guy. If you want to give pussy away, hell, that's your business. But if you want to sell it, these are my fucking streets, and no one messes with my bottom line. So, you better know up front, I'm taking a goddamn cut.'

With as much cruelty as they had endured before, they knew there was more yet to come. What they saw in his eyes scared them. This wasn't Rico's normal cruelty, it was payback for all the times Ginger had refused his groping advances. This was about a dickless little prick trying to regain his sense of lost control. It was about making sure everyone saw him do it.

Gone were the passive aggressive threats. In their place was a chilling calm that sparked an uneasy sense of dread. A growing fear burned through the ashen faced crowd like wildfire through a dry canyon. The gaggle of bemused women stood around Rico's latest target as if watching an unwitting lamb being dragged helplessly to the slaughter. He was ice cold; bitter as an early winter breeze blowing through the leafless trees of autumn.

Rico gestured high overhead into a starless black sky filled with twin fifty foot high holographic dancing girls.The blaring images floated above the club like neon sirens beckoning unsuspecting patrons onto the rocky shores inside. "See baby," he said, smiling up as Ginger looked at herself dancing half-naked. "I did this for you."

The open mouth expression on her face said, 'You sick bastard.' But a part of her, the part she kept locked away from prying eyes, the part forged in the dark pit, that part liked it. Sexuality, sensuality and perverse objectification gave her power over men. She would bend Rico to her will, even if he broke in two.

No matter what Rico said to justify the hologram, the women knew he had done it for himself. They were right. He was a narcissist who knew the streets revolved around him. He stripped away their dignity to fulfil his own callous ambitions and selfish desires.

Below the gyrating images an enormous neon Marquette flashed from Club Neutrino to Naked Girls, to XXX.

If nothing else, Ginger thought sarcastically, 'At least, he's consistent and consistency gives rise to predictable men.' And that predictability fit into Ginger's plan.

"Now," he continued, hands raised to the heavens high above as if in rapturous sermon. "Every man in this sector will want some quality alone time with my angel in the sky."

'I'm not your anything,' Ginger thought, as a glimmer of heat crossed her trembling face.

A month prior, Rico had coerced Ginger into dancing in a sleazy studio. The only reason she agreed was his offer to pay for medical treatments for her son. He was getting sicker and needed treatments she could not afford.

At the time it seemed a fair exchange. Dance for money. Why not? I do that all the time. But until this moment, she had never imagined what it may look like. And now she thought, 'Here it is in all its revealing glory.'

The result of Rico's perverse master plan made her feel small. It was a feeling she detested. And it was the last time she would ever feel that way. For the first time, Ginger found herself on the verge of ruining her own plan. A plan long in the works. Ginger's face flushed when her nearly see-through clothes fell away as a mag-lev-train entered the subway station beside the club.

"Nothing personal." he said, staring up at her g-string with a pearly white grin that made her skin crawl. "Just business." He gestured at her with a blank expression that made him seem more unstable than ever. "And this is how you repay me. After I place you above all."

Truth be told, the others were happy he had chosen Ginger and not them. They preferred it when he lavished his attentions on her. That meant a night of not being groped for them.

What they failed to recognize was that Ginger put herself between him and them on purpose. They were the only family she had known these past ten years, and she felt responsible for protecting them. Even if they wouldn't do the same for her. But that was OK, she knew they were afraid of him She was not. She would never fear any man. And this one was nothing more than a necessary evil. An insignificant cog in a machine he couldn't even see.. But there was a part to play. So, she feared him, remained submissive to him and utterly defenseless to the big man in his fancy jewelry and perfume. The tiny inner voice she had locked away years earlier, said, 'The darkness is here. So, laugh it up while you can.'

It had rained earlier in the day. The way it always rained in, 'New Detroit'. Not that anyone could tell day from night beneath the dome. The high intensity electrical grid blotting out the harmful electrical storms over the city made that impossible. The shield kept out everything bad while simultaneously keeping in everything unwanted. Like the sweltering heat, oppressive humidity and the choking stench created by 45 million inhabitants crammed into a space barely big enough for 20 million. But here in Newest Detroit, no one complained. Life was grand and the money never stopped flowing. If you had the right last name.

The asphalt streets were slick with mirrored images of the dazzling neon lights illuminating the overburdened streets. The thin layer of brackish water covering them stank of overrun sewers and the runoff of a thousand spilling back alley dumpsters. But that was nothing new for those who lived down on the always congested streets. New Detroit, stunk.

Like Rico, the dome was a necessary evil. It proteced the inhabitants from the ravaging effects of the lightning storms in the upper atmosphere. The thick black shell cast an endless night that tested the limits of mental endurance. But the people endured. They found a routine that worked them and got along. One day at a time.

Such minor inconveniences as stinking sewers, leaking garbage and an endless night didn't bother the ultra rich tourists that came to this unregulated mega city in search of every debaucheries and hedonistic pleasure imaginable. All the sins were here. Tourists just needed to know where to look. Even if they didn't, most hotels offered what they called guest-enjoyment-packages or discrete concierge services. Specialized services were for those not wanting to air their dirty secrets in public. High-end hotels offered discrete in room services tailored to the client's particular appetites. Almost anything goes.

Both the rich and infamous visited this climate controlled penthouses high above the common rabble who kept the city alive, kept it moving. Those model citizens rarely went down to the street level; unless looking for specific pleasures deemed too unsavory for the upper levels. After their sadistic appetites were satiated, they returned to the privileged amenities unconcerned with the outcome of their evil deeds.

The increasingly worried crowd outside the club took a step away from Rico's latest target, leaving Ginger to the grim buffeting of the oncoming storm. The terrified women hawked at the spoiled man-child in their midst. But Ginger covertly stood her ground, eyeing the nearby corner in the distance. A corner that remained curiously dark for such a well-lit street. And yet, no one noticed the gloomy corner. But she did. The darkness had come. The next step in the plan would soon take shape. He who walks in darkness shall save my children tonight, she thought and a smile escaped her lips.

Rico saw the smile and frowned. He turned his back on her, raised his hands as if ministering to passersby. "Now, all shall see and desire you." He lowered his arms, dropped his face to the ground and added with a tone of Supreme disappointment, "And where is my little money maker when I need her most?" He looked over his shoulder, a glint of fire behind his squinted lids, and answered his own question. "Nowhere."

"Nowhere, boss." the mountain sized doorman repeated as if on que. His deep voice reverberated through the crowd like a shock-wave.

"I spent a butt-load of coin on this little advertising venture." Rico said to the doorman. "And she's... where?"

"Nowhere, boss." the doorman replied again. He moved closer, like an obedient dog coming to the aide of its master.

"That's right." Rico fumed. He shook his head in disgust. "She's no-fucking-where."

A hover car horn blared in the night sky as the mesmerized driver veered out of the hoverway and skidded alongside one of a nearby mega-scrapers. A cascade of sparks and glass showered the street. The crowds on the busy sidewalks far below ran for cover and Rico let out a hearty full-throated laugh. "See! There goes another soon-to-be satisfied customer."

In the 3 days since the new signage's arrival, it had caused many traffic accidents. In the near distance, angry parents closed their children's bedroom curtains. But none spoke out against the crime lord. Everyone knew Rico was protected. Another benefit of having the right last name.

Rico's influential parents - high ranking city council members - gave him the abandoned parcel because it was just down the street from the interstellar financial hub that never slowed; not even for a nanosecond. The property was a prime location to attract a balding, middle-aged clientele who feared they had lost their vitality and youth. Most had, but now they were about to lose their money too.

The re-purposed structure had been the crowning glory of 'New Detroit', 7 decades earlier. That was before the xeromorph outbreak of 2,278, substantially reduced the surrounding population.

"Do the math, baby," Rico said, pointing a well-manicured fingernail toward the dark-haired hooker. "If everyone coming in wants the girl in the sky, but she's not here, how much do I lose?"

Ginger stared at Rico, face blanching as she backed away. On the inside, her mind swirled with plans. On the outside, invisible hands choked off her stammering voice. And now, this was the moment. It had finally come. He would see. He would come. He would serve. And dammit, Rico would play his part even if she had to drag him onto the stage by his tiny little balls.

Rico followed her every movement, step by step, inch by inch, moving with her like a cheetah pacing a weakened antelope and said, "Come on. It's a simple math question, bitch. If you earn 1,500 credits a roll, at 5 rolls a night, and if you miss four nights, how many credits did you cost me?"

Ginger shifted uneasily on her teetering heels, shaking her head as she narrowly avoided the wall-sized doorman who had left his post when Rico gestured him to arms. "I'm sorry Rico, my kid was-."

"Wrong, bitch." The pampered pimp cut in, facing flushing red as he stood amid his downtrodden harem like a would-be king loading over his court.

The stench of weakness coursing through Rico's veins made him ugly to Ginger. "It won't happen again. I'll make it up to you."

"Make it up to me!" his hands balling at his sides. "How many times has this happened?"

"I promise it won't happen again."

"Oh bitch, on that we can agree," Showing little sign of seeing anything other than how the threat affected the others, he moved closer. The palpable fear spread across their faces made him feel strong. It made him feel in control.

Too bad the broad-shouldered figure watching from the shadows on the adjacent corner didn't share the same feelings. No, Riddick felt something altogether different. He felt an odd sense of rage manifesting itself as a tiny blue ember flickering behind his mirrored pupils like slowly opening blue buds that drained the energy from his surroundings.

The emergence of the flames brought him to this world, seeking answers. Gone were the childhood questions of lineage. In their place were more pressing questions. What's happening to me? How do I stop it?

None on the busy street noticed the darkness on the corner. It cloaked Riddick from passersby as he waited for a once trusted comrade. A comrade he wasn't sure he still trusted. Trust issues aside, the time for action arrived. The thing growing inside was taking control. He needed it removed soon.

Riddick chose the back alley corner on the side of the club because it skirted a central hub where all ground traffic, the underground rail system and the overhead hoverway intersected. It was a perfect place to hide. Close enough to see the action, yet far enough away to escape into the zone if the need arose. And no one would expect him to be out in plain sight. If you could call the perpetual darkness following him wherever he went, being out in plain sight.

Riddick watched the ill-matched showdown in uneasy silence, unable to escape the feeling he'd met the hooker somewhere before. The troubling sense of déjà vu filling his thoughts made him question why he even cared about a no name hooker in the back end of the Universe. But against his better judgement, he did care, and the longer he watched the scene progress to its inevitable climax, the more he knew he would eventually have to intervene. But why? Who is she? Why can't I walk away?

He fixated on the hooker's flowing black hair, dark piercing eyes and pale skin. Then it hit him. "That's not right." he whispered, "You're dead."

Why hadn't he seen it before? Riddick remembered the day Shazza Montgomery died on M6-117. It's her; It has to be; Shazza is alive. But how?

A bitter pang of regret slammed him hard, and he steadied himself against the side of the corner. Her memory brought back the long series of events that led to Kyra's eventual death. Her death would have crushed him completely if he knew who she really was. But that revelation would come later. Until then, Kyra would remain the girl he'd saved from the darkness. The girl he loved like a kid sister. But that's not who she was. Not who she is. And a part of him knew there was more to that connection.

"No," he protested, believing it must be a trick of the imagination. 'The Hunter Gratzner,' went down nearly two decades earlier. But there she was, standing right in front of him. The spitting image of Shazza; her same hair, same face, and the same unmistakable Aussie accent. "How can she be here?"

Months earlier, Riddick sent word to an old friend. Weeks passed with no reply. But then, a coded message came from Sigma 3. A message confirming the meet. Now he was here, but his friend was absent. 'She's here,' he thought, 'Coincidence?'

A foreboding sense crept across Riddick's face, leaving behind a worrisome knot in the pit of his stomach. It urged him to leave; to getaway before everything went sideways; before death emerged from the darkness again. The way it always did.

Death stalked him like an invisible beast peering out of an unknown void, always a few steps ahead or behind. It took those he helped; everyone who got close and everyone who loved him. But it was too late to retreat. Riddick needed answers. So wait he did, cloaked in darkness, preparing for the worst, all the while knowing it would come.

years after Riddick's escape from Not Furya.

"Listen bitch, it's a simple math problem." A suave pimp in a designer suit seethed. His unusually calm demeanor caught the attention of the women standing outside the front doors of, 'Club Neutrino.'

The nightly meeting had become routine. The women arrived. Their boss came out and issued nightly assignments. It always happened at 6PM, and always 1 hour prior to the door's opening for business. After which, some went into the business district searching for clients while others went inside to dance. Still others fulfilled more intimate acts for the regulars backstage. Not tonight, the boss seemed put out. He stared through the wary group, eyebrows furrowed and red cheeks flushed.

The boss was a decent-looking guy, 6 foot tall as he told it; 5 foot11. He had dark brown hair and a wiry runner's frame. He wasn't exactly what you'd call scrawny, but he certainly wasn't an imposing man either. Like all men of self-proclaimed power, he thought, a great deal of himself. The downtrodden working girls in his employ, not so much. A few of the ladies informed the others, "He's a bit too short for his height."

That always made them laugh.

Rico liked his fancy cars, expensive toys, gaudy jewelry and noxious colognes with haughty French names. It was an obvious ruse. He was a self-hater, hiding behind the trappings of wealth and power. But tonight, the need to hide the insecure little boy beneath the pretense of power would send him straight to shit city.

The scantily clad working girl he set upon towered over the poorly compensated harem. She was long and willowy, 5 foot 11, and an absolute giant perched atop a fresh pair of stilettos. The slutty heels were at Rico's insistence. The style and height were all hers. Ginger liked them high.

When the neon lights of the business district struck Ginger's waist length black hair at just the right angle, it gave off a bluish sheen like a chrome rainbow burned onto a hot tailpipe. Her captivating eyes were black voids, so unusual in fact, her clientele stared into them endlessly trying to find the pupils hidden within. They were there. Damned hard to spot right away. And the longer someone tried, the more their minds filled with a single thought. Anything. You can have anything.

Ginger's accented voice had a mesmerizing effect on her suitors. Its hypnotic melody drew lonely men to her without fail. It exuded love and desire, and assured them all, 'I am yours.' But it left them all enveloped in an unnatural blanket of cold. Then, as if caught in an inescapable web, a single thought consumed them, 'I want you more than life itself.' And they did. Until they went mad.

For ten years, she struggled to conceal the effects her voice had on others. And the more she tried, the more her suitors vanished. Although no one noticed. Men who used women for pleasure never stuck around.

She asked nothing of the men who came to her; took nothing from them when they offered. Other than the set fee her employer wanted for services rendered. She exercised no power over them, drew no attention to herself, and lived a normal, mortal life. Through it all, she raised her children in poverty, thought of the underlying plan and waited for the coming of darkness.

Peering over Rico's shoulder, she cast an imperceptible smile at the corner. The darkness had finally come.

Rico stood in front of the only property in his possession. In its heyday, 'Club Neutrino,' had been a high-end hotel in a tourist rich mecca for the ultra-wealthy and influential. But now, the building languished as a sad testament to the excesses of a forgotten past. But, like all parents of ugly babies, he loved his rundown building. It was his, and no one could convince him it was not grand.

As a descendent of the 4 great founding houses, Rico struggled to live up to his glorious name. Like a spoiled man-baby he had everything, wanted for little and achieved nothing.

The hooker, without lineage or name, appeared in front of the club out of thin air. She came from nothing, wanted for her children and earned everything. She was the one woman Rico could never bed.

In his mind, he reasoned, if I win her, I can do anything. Attain anything. But Ginger didn't see it that way, and tonight Rico had finally reasoned her resolve far outweighed his own. She would never give in. He was right.

Ginger stood amidst the pack, porcelain face mocking him as if he were a nobody. He hated her for making him feel insignificant. Hated her for refusing his advances. After all, she's just a lowly hooker, 'Why refuse me?' he reassured himself. 'I'm not the nobody, she's the goddamn nobody. I'm the boss and what the boss says goes.' His self-proclaimed authority gave him no sway over her.

The dozen women saw only the drawn, pallid expression of a woman in the grip of terror. They saw no signs she mocked him, nor had they ever seen her mock him before. But Rico could see the insulting sneer. He was sure it was there. Hidden in the corners of her mouth. Buried behind her black eyes. He was certain there was a look of contempt. And who knows? Perhaps it had always been there. Maybe Ginger always wanted him to see.

His chiseled face flushed, his soft unused hands balled into tight fists, then he released his hands before anyone noticed. His anger would have burned more brightly had he known Ginger told the others, 'A girl, even one caught in a spider's sticky web, has to have standards. And, unfortunately for Sir Rico, I have standards.' Odd words coming from a hooker, but that back-handed insult never failed to draw laughs.

One thing that never made the women laugh, or brought any comfort, was Rico's fervent use of words like bitch. He used those words, and to demoralize them. When he felt those petty insults failed to achieve the desired effect, he turned to violence. But never The face. No. Never the face.

"Clients don't like bruised faces." He assured them, "It ruins the fantasy."

For Rico, business was simple, pussy pays the bills, and those equipped with them, were less than human. They were meat products created for no other purpose than supporting a market driven economy. They possessed the product, and he provided them with an unending marketplace in which to sell them.

The only saving grace was that Rico had never seriously injured anyone before. Sure, he had beaten most of them, but he had killed no one. He never went that far before.

'Hey,' he thought, 'I'm not a bad guy. If you want to give pussy away, hell, that's your business. But if you want to sell it, these are my fucking streets, and no one messes with my bottom line. So, you better know up front, I'm taking a goddamn cut.'

With as much cruelty as they had endured before, they knew there was more yet to come. What they saw in his eyes scared them. This wasn't Rico's normal cruelty, it was payback for all the times Ginger had refused his groping advances. This was about a dickless little prick trying to regain his sense of lost control. It was about making sure everyone saw him do it.

Gone were the passive aggressive threats. In their place was a chilling calm that sparked an uneasy sense of dread. A growing fear burned through the ashen faced crowd like wildfire through a dry canyon. The gaggle of bemused women stood around Rico's latest target as if watching an unwitting lamb being dragged helplessly to the slaughter. He was ice cold; bitter as an early winter breeze blowing through the leafless trees of autumn.

Rico gestured high overhead into a starless black sky. Twin fifty foot high holographic dancing girls floated above the club like neon sirens beckoning unsuspecting patrons onto the rocky shores inside. "See baby," he said, smiling up as Ginger looked at herself dancing half-naked. "I did this for you."

The open mouth expression on her face said, 'you sick bastard.' But a part of her, the part she kept locked away from prying eyes, the part forged in the dark pit, that part liked it. Sexuality, sensuality and perverse objectification gave her power over men. She would bend him to her will, even if he broke in two.

No matter what Rico said to justify the hologram, the women knew he had done it for himself. They were right. He was a narcissist who knew the streets revolved around him. He stripped away their dignity to fulfil his own callous ambitions and selfish desires.

Below the gyrating images an enormous neon Marquette flashed from Club Neutrino to Naked Girls, to XXX.

If nothing else, Ginger thought sarcastically, 'At least, he's consistent and consistency gives rise to predictable men.' And that predictability fit into Ginger's plan.

"Now," he continued, hands raised to the heavens high above as if deep in a rapturous sermon. "Every man in this sector will want some quality alone time with my angel in the sky."

'I'm not your anything,' Ginger thought, as a glimmer of heat crossed her trembling face.

A month prior, Rico had coerced Ginger into dancing in a sleazy studio. The only reason she agreed was his offer to pay for medical treatments for her son. Treatments she could not afford.

At the time it seemed a fair exchange. But until this moment, she had never imagined what it may look like. And now she thought, 'here it is in all its revealing glory.'

The result of Rico's perverse master plan made her feel small. It was a feeling she detested. It was the last time she would allow that. For the first time, Ginger found herself on the verge of ruining her own plan. A plan in the works for a long time.

Ginger's face flushed when her nearly see-through clothes fell away as a mag-lev-train entered the subway station beside the club. "Nothing personal, love." he said, staring up at her enormous g-string with a pearly white grin that made her skin crawl. "It's just good business." he added, turning to the others. He gestured towards Ginger with a blank expression that made him seem more unstable than ever. "And this is how you repay me. After I place you above all."

Truth be told, the others were happy he had chosen Ginger and not them. They preferred it when the sleaze gave her all his attention. That meant a night of not being groped.

What they failed to recognize was that Ginger put herself between him and them. They were the only family she had known these past ten years, and she felt responsible for protecting them. Even if they wouldn't do the same. But that was OK, she figured, they were afraid of Sir Rico and she was not. She would never be afraid of men. And this man was nothing more than a necessary evil. A blip in a plan long in the making. She knew the part she played. She feared him, was submissive to him and utterly defenseless to the big man in his fancy jewelry and perfume. A tiny inner voice said, 'The darkness is here. So, laugh it up while you can.'

It had rained earlier in the day. The way it always rained in, 'New Detroit'. Not that anyone could tell day from night beneath the protective dome. The high intensity electrical grid blotting out the harmful electrical storms made that impossible. The shield kept out everything bad while simultaneously keeping in everything unwanted. Like the sweltering heat, oppressive humidity and the choking stench created by 45 million inhabitants crammed into a space barely big enough for 20 million. But here in Newest Detroit, no one complained. Life was grand and the money never stopped flowing. If you had the right last name.

The asphalt streets were slick with mirrored images of the dazzling neon lights illuminating the overburdened streets. The thin layer of brackish water covering them stank of overrun sewers and the runoff of a thousand spilling back alley dumpsters. But that was nothing new for those who lived down on the always congested streets.

Above the city hovered the dome, protecting the inhabitants from the ravaging effects of the lightning storms in the upper atmosphere. The black shell cast an endless night that tested their limits of endurance. But the people endured. They found a routine that worked and kept getting along. One day at a time.

Such minor inconveniences as stinking sewers and leaking garbage didn't bother the ultra rich tourists that came to Mega city in search of all the debaucheries and hedonistic pleasure imaginable. All the sins were here. Tourists just needed to know where to look., and even if they didn't, most of the major hotels offered what they called guest-enjoyment-packages or discrete concierge services. For those not wanting to air their dirty secrets in public, high-end hotels offered discrete in room services tailored to the client's particular appetites. Almost anything goes.

Both the rich and infamous visited this climate controlled penthouses high above the common rabble who kept the city alive, kept it moving. Those model citizens rarely went down to the street level; unless looking for specific pleasures deemed too unsavory for the upper levels. After, with their sadistic appetites satiated, they returned to the privileged amenities unconcerned with the outcome of their evil deeds.

The increasingly worried crowd outside the club took a step away from Rico's latest target, leaving Ginger to the grim buffeting of the oncoming storm. The terrified women hawked at the spoiled man-child in their midst. Ginger stood her ground, covertly eyeing the nearby corner in the distance. A corner that remained curiously dark for such a well-lit street. And yet, no one noticed the gloomy corner. But she did. The darkness had come. The next step in the plan would soon take shape.

Rico turned, raised his hands as if ministering to passersby. "Now, all shall see you and desire you." He lowered his arms, dropped his face to the ground and shoot his head in saddening disbelief. "And where is my little money maker when I need her most?" He looked over his shoulder, a glint of fire behind his squinted lids, and answered his own question. "Nowhere to find."

"Nowhere to find, boss." the mountain sized doorman repeated in a voice so deep it reverberated through the crowd like a shock-wave.

"I spent a butt-load of coin on this little advertising venture." Rico said to the doorman. "And she's... where?"

"Nowhere, boss." the doorman replied on cue. He moved closer, like an obedient dog coming to the aide of its master.

"Your goddamn right." Rico fumed. He shook his head in utter disgust. "No fucking where, at all."

A hover car horn blared in the night sky as the mesmerized driver veered out of the hoverway and skidded alongside one of a nearby mega-scrapers. A cascade of sparks and glass showered the street. The crowds on the busy sidewalks far below ran for cover and Rico let out a hearty full-throated laugh. "See! There goes another soon-to-be satisfied customer."

In the last 3 days, the new signage had caused many traffic accidents. In the near distance, angry parents closed their children's bedroom curtains. But none spoke out against the crime lord. Everyone knew Rico was a protected man. Just one benefit of having the right name.

Rico's influential parents - high ranking city council members - gave him the abandoned parcel because it was just down the street from the interstellar financial hub that never slowed; not even for a nanosecond. The property was a prime location to attract a balding, middle-aged clientele who feared they had lost their vitality and youth. Most had, but now they were about to lose their money too.

The re-purposed structure had been the crowning glory of 'New Detroit', 7 decades earlier. That was before the xeromorph outbreak of 2,278, substantially reduced the surrounding population.

"Do the math, baby," Rico pointed a well-manicured fingernail toward the dark-haired hooker. "If everyone coming in wants the girl in the sky, but she's not here, how much do I lose?"

Ginger stared at Rico, face blanching as she backed away. On the inside, her mind swirled with plans. On the outside, invisible hands choked off her stammering voice. And now, this was the moment. It had finally come. And dammit, Rico would play his part even if she had to drag him onto the stage by his tiny little balls.

Rico followed her every movement, step by step, inch by inch, moving with her like a cheetah pacing a weakened antelope and said, "Come on. It's a simple math question, bitch. If you earn 1,500 credits a roll, at 5 rolls a night, and if you miss four nights, how many credits did you cost me?"

Ginger shifted uneasily on her teetering heels, shaking her head as she narrowly avoided the wall-sized doorman who had left his post when Rico gestured him to arms. "I'm sorry Rico, my kid was-."

"Wrong, bitch." The pampered pimp cut in, facing flushing red as he stood amid his downtrodden harem like a would-be king loading over his court.

The stench of weakness coursing through Rico's veins made him ugly to Ginger. "It won't happen again. I'll make it up to you."

"Make it up to me!" his hands balling at his sides. "How many times has this happened?"

"I promise it won't happen again."

"Oh bitch, on that we can agree," Showing little sign of seeing anything other than how the threat affected the others, he moved closer. The palpable fear spread across their faces made him feel strong. It made him feel in control.

Too bad the broad-shouldered figure watching from the shadows on the adjacent corner didn't share the same feelings. No, Riddick felt something altogether different. He felt an odd sense of rage manifesting itself as a tiny blue ember flickering behind his mirrored pupils like slowly opening blue buds that drained the energy from his surroundings.

The emergence of the flames brought him to this world, seeking answers. Gone were the childhood questions of lineage. In their place were more pressing questions. What's happening to me? How do I stop it?

None on the busy street noticed the darkness on the corner. It cloaked Riddick from passersby as he waited for a once trusted comrade. A comrade he wasn't sure he still trusted. Trust issues aside, the time for action arrived. The thing growing inside was taking control. He needed it removed soon.

Riddick chose the back alley corner on the side of the club because it skirted a central hub where all ground traffic, the underground rail system and the overhead hoverway intersected. It was a perfect place to hide. Close enough to see the action, yet far enough away to escape into the zone if the need arose. And no one would expect him to be out in plain sight. If you could call the perpetual darkness following him wherever he went, being out in plain sight.

Riddick watched the ill-matched showdown in uneasy silence, unable to escape the feeling he'd met the hooker somewhere before. The troubling sense of déjà vu filling his thoughts made him question why he even cared about a no name hooker in the back end of the Universe. But against his better judgement, he did care, and the longer he watched the scene progress to its inevitable climax, the more he knew he would eventually have to intervene. But why? Who is she? Why can't I walk away?

He fixated on the hooker's flowing black hair, dark piercing eyes and pale skin. Then it hit him. "That's not right." he whispered, "You're dead."

Why hadn't he seen it before? Riddick remembered the day Shazza Montgomery died on M6-117. It's her; It has to be; Shazza is alive. But how?

A bitter pang of regret slammed him hard, and he steadied himself against the side of the corner. Her memory brought back the long series of events that led to Kyra's eventual death. Her death would have crushed him completely if he knew who she really was. But that revelation would come later. Until then, Kyra would remain the girl he'd saved from the darkness. The girl he loved like a kid sister. But that's not who she was. Not who she is. And a part of him knew there was more to that connection.

"No," he protested, believing it must be a trick of the imagination. 'The Hunter Gratzner,' went down nearly two decades earlier. But there she was, standing right in front of him. The spitting image of Shazza; her same hair, same face, and the same unmistakable Aussie accent. "How can she be here?"

Months earlier, Riddick sent word to an old friend. Weeks passed with no reply. But then, a coded message came from Sigma 3. A message confirming the meet. Now he was here, but his friend was absent. 'She's here,' he thought, 'Coincidence?'

A foreboding sense crept across Riddick's face, leaving behind a worrisome knot in the pit of his stomach. It urged him to leave; to getaway before everything went sideways; before death emerged from the darkness again. The way it always did.

Death stalked him like an invisible beast peering out of an unknown void, always a few steps ahead or behind. It took those he helped; everyone who got close and everyone who loved him. But it was too late to retreat. Riddick needed answers. So wait he did, cloaked in darkness, preparing for the worst, all the while knowing it would come.